Unforeseen Circumstances
by That L Chap
Summary: Read the previously untold story of what one particular husk head thinks about being the newest resident of the Normandy, and the Commander's most unusual desk toy. His name is Alan, and he doesn't think much of it. Rated M for some saucy language.


**Hi there. Soooooo ... it's been a while. About a year I think, since I've written anything. But then this little thing wandered into my head, and I had to write it. I'm a big fan of stories told from unusual perspectives, and this had me giggling all the time while writing it. Hopefully you'll find it funny too. Also, the voice for Alan I had in my head while I was writing was a pretty strong West Country accent, so basically if you read it a Wheatley from Portal 2 you'll get the full effect.**

**Please leave reviews and all that jazz, and given enough positive response I'll most likely do a series out of this, as I've have what I think are some good ideas.**

**Disclaimers n' shit: I don't own Mass Effect or anything in it. The lovely folks over at Bioware do. Booo. **

Hi. Um, my name's Alan, or at least I think it is (was?). And ,er, yeah; I'm a husk. Well, technically, I'm a husk _head_. Who lives on the Normandy. You see I –

You know what? Let's just start from the beginning.

I can't remember who I was before, though probably no one important, though I do remember my name is Alan, for some reason. The first memory I have is of gaining "consciousness", so to speak, in a Reaper drop pod. I remember emerging from it, incredibly confused, onto some moon somewhere, stumbling a few steps, and then experiencing the sudden sensation of not having my legs there any more.

I briefly caught a glimpse of some big meat-headed lunk of a soldier turn and run after another human and an Asari, muttering something about "Not being out-done by Lola". Whatever that means.

And then things got a bit, well, wobbly.

And by wobbly I mean pitch black and confusing.

The next thing I knew, I was on some kind of stand, on a table. And, oh yeah, the rest of me wasn't. I mean, being a husk is bad enough, but not even having a body? That's just insulting.

Whatever.

Anyway, there I was, trying to figure out what my life was going to consist of (hopefully not being poked by various sciency things), vaguely listening to some doctor talking to a red-haired woman, when the doctor's assistant full-on flipped his shit, said something like "The darkness must not be breached." And flat-out shot the doctor.

Now, I'm not used to violence, so this was something of a shock, right? If I had lungs I would have hyperventilated. The red-haired woman didn't seem all that bothered though, in fact her first response was to nail the assistant right in the face with a datapad. Pretty impressive aim, I have to say.

So she calls up C-Sec and they arrive in minutes. I lost track of what they were talking about, mostly because it involved Reapers, and I honestly don't know much about them aside from they're bloody massive and I'm not hugely fond of them, if I'm honest.

Eventually, C-Sec buggers off and this hot robot lady walks in. If I could still whistle, I would have. Properly stunning she was. She said some more stuff I couldn't make head nor tails of, though I did find out her name was EDI, and then her and the red haired woman (oh, almost forgot to say; it was only _Commander bloody Shepard _wasn't it?) started walking round the lab, and even came right up to me.

_This is my chance! _I thought. _I might be able to get off this bloody thing. Maybe they can even make me normal again! _I opened my mouth, intending to say "Oh thank you! I know what this looks like, but you have to help me!" But instead of my normally beautifully pronounced English, what came out was:

"AHIRHIHAIARRARROOOUAARR"

Now _that _was a surprise, possibly more to me than it was to them. Though they did back off a couple of feet. _Hang on a minute, _I thought, _that can't be right. I'll try again._

"RAAOAROIRIOIRRR"

_Bugger it. _

As you can imagine, they didn't exactly want to come near me after that. They spent about ten minutes wandering around poking things, did some stuff on a Galaxy Map, and then left. Leaving me. On my own. With absolutely nothing to do.

Wankers.

I mean, they didn't even bother to check on me, and I'd just seen a man have his internal organs introduced to a rather overly-friendly bullet.

Oh come on, it's not that harsh, it's just how I deal with, you know, massively traumatising experiences. You try waking up as a husk, having your legs shot off, and then being made to watch extreme violence. See how you like it.

So they left me there, on my own. I don't know if you've ever been stuck in a room with nothing to do, but let me tell you, it's even worse when _you don't have any limbs_. I tried moving my plinth, but seeing as some kind of mass effect fielding was keeping me resolutely in place, that was about as useful as a Volus go-go dancer.

Eventually I gave up and tried sleeping, and what do you know, husks _can_ sleep! I think I was only out for a few hours, as I awoke to the Commander and EDI returning to the lab, mentioning something about finding Doctor Bryson's daughter.

And of course that's exactly what they did. They also seemed to be rather concerned about some glowy orb-thingy. I don't know what it was, but I could feel _something _through it. Reminded me of the Reapers if I'm honest. Gave me a right chill down my non-existent spine.

So they left me there, again. For hours. I cannot tell you the level of boredom I felt, though I did figure out how to spin around in my field. Got a bit dizzy after a while, but it turns out not having a stomach means you can't vomit. Brilliant! There goes worrying about throwing up if I get bladdered. That's _if _I can get blind drunk anymore.

I'm getting off-track again aren't I? Anyway, they came back, with the Doctor's daughter this time. But you'll never guess who was with them: _that big bloody meat-head who shot my legs off._ Properly flabbergasted I was, almost enough that I missed what they were talking about.

"Hey Lola. Need a hand?"

"What brings you down here James?"

"Heard you're closing in on the Reaper killer. Anything that can scare those bastards has to be worth a look."

"That's what I'm hoping."

At that point he turned and stared at me. I stared back. No one beats me in a staring contest.

"Commander, you see this thing? This is great!"

Thing?!_ I'm not a _thing_ you tattooed cockwomble. And you try having no functioning anything besides a brain. See how you like it._

Oh, and you'll never guess what he did next: he tried to poke me! The bloody nerve of it! So I did what anyone would've done.

"AAAIAOARIOIRIRRIORIRRR"

And I bit him. Right on the finger.

"Ow! Son of a ..."

_Yeah, that's right. Don't mess with me. Next time I'll bite your knuckles off, mate._

"Hey, EDI. Husk bites … they don't turn you into a husk or anything, right?"

_Oh I hope it does. That'd be bloody hilarious. Well, hilarious for me. Probably incredibly painful for you._

"I recommend you apply medi-gel."

_Aww, did little old me give you a boo-boo? Man up._

And then this is where things went completely mental.

"Hey, if nobody claims this thing, we could take it with us, you know, for research or, I don't know, whatever."

_Hang about, no ones taking me anywhere, mate. Or using me for research. Come on then, I'll have the lot of you. Just – just come a bit closer so I can bite you to shit._

"Alright, just don't tell anybody."

… _What? No-no-no – wait!_

And that's when he picked me up, stuffed me in a bag, shoved me in what I can only presume was a skycar, and drove off.

So that's how I ended up here, on the Normandy, right on the desk of the famous Commander Shepard.

Well, fuck.

**So now you know Alan's opinions about being the Commander's newest desk toy. Needless to say, I don't think he's going to enjoy his new life. Anyway, reviews are my crack, so please feed a starving junkie. Or if you have a suggestion for things to happen to our poor Alan, feel free to posit whatever you wish. But for now, I'm out of here.**


End file.
